


all that matters in the end

by ahtohallan_calling



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, can you believe it's not an au for once LOL, canonverse, post frozen 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23616349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahtohallan_calling/pseuds/ahtohallan_calling
Summary: One moment, Kristoff has a hand raised in the air to wave a greeting to their hosts, the other pressed casually against Anna’s lower back.And then the next he’s on his knees and still falling, and the cape she’d been wearing is in tatters, half in his hand and half still hanging from her shoulders as she charges after the assassin with the sword she’d yanked from Kristoff’s belt the second she’d seen the flash of a knife.
Relationships: Anna/Kristoff (Disney)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 64





	all that matters in the end

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gabiwnomagic](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=gabiwnomagic).



> thank you to my dear friend gabi/gabiwnomagic for the idea, for helping me develop this, and for her beautiful art: https://ahtohallan-calling.tumblr.com/post/615219568670015488/all-that-matters-in-the-end-kristanna-post-f2

One moment, Kristoff has a hand raised in the air to wave a greeting to their hosts, the other pressed casually against Anna’s lower back.

And then the next he’s on his knees and still falling, and the cape she’d been wearing is in tatters, half in his hand and half still hanging from her shoulders as she charges after the assassin with the sword she’d yanked from Kristoff’s belt the second she’d seen the flash of a knife.

It’s meant for decoration more than anything, not sharp enough to kill, but she knows from the way the man gasps and scrabbles at her hands that it still hurts like hell when it’s crushed against an exposed throat.

She can’t look back, only down at the assassin’s purpling face and the scratches his blunt nails leave on her fingers. If she doesn’t look back then that means Kristoff is still alive and not bleeding out, sentenced to death for the crime of standing beside her.

“Mercy,” the man gasps, and she presses harder. 

* * *

Someone took the sword from her; she’s not sure when. Her fingers itch for it still, curling and uncurling at her side as she waits in an unfamiliar room for him to wake. 

The king and queen have been exceedingly gracious, have canceled all matters of diplomacy and state and locked down the capital til the would-be murderers are caught.

(Would-be, because he’s going to survive. He has to. When she had turned back he was already unconscious, and she cannot fathom a world where she didn’t get to say goodbye.)

And they’re in a suite of guest rooms now, with guards posted at every door and window, and a revolving team of physicians, and Anna has a bed for herself, but the sheets haven’t even been pulled back.

She brushes her fingers over his cheek again, trails them down to cup his jaw. “Look at me,” she pleads, “wake up and look at me, honey, I promise I’m here. I’m not leaving, not ever again.”

She’s told him that once before, after the forest. She promised. And then she ran after the assassin anyway instead of even lingering long enough to catch Kristoff as he fell.

“Forgive me,” she sobs, begging him now as tears course down her cheeks and she curls forward to rest her cheek against his shoulder. “I mean it this time.”

* * *

When he does wake, she cries so hard it scares him.

He tries to reach for her out of instinct, but then a hiss of pain tears from him as he falls back against the bed.

“I’m sorry,” Anna gasps as she runs her hands over his face, through his hair, across his shoulders, over and over again. “I’m so sorry, Kristoff.”

He finally catches her wrists and stills them. “For what, baby?” he asks, eyes wide with confusion. 

Before she can give him the answer he deserves, the doctors sweep in, and she backs into a corner of the room, watching from afar and trying to stem the flood. Mattias sees her and stands beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders to steady her. “It’s alright, your majesty,” he says, sounding so paternal that despite his gentle words the tears start all over again. 

He murmurs reassurances and holds her, and she hates herself for accepting them, when all she’s done is sit around feeling sorry for herself. 

_And leave_ , she reminds herself furiously, _you fucking left when you said you wouldn’t._

She wants to leave again now, to escape Kristoff’s worried gaze, focused on her even as the doctors poke and prod at him. She doesn’t deserve the kindness in his eyes; she never has, but she’s terrified of what her world would become without it.

* * *

They go home a few days later; the visit was to forge a stronger bond, and that has been accomplished, at least. Now she knows that Corona will stand with Arendelle under any circumstances, and has assured them that her own kingdom and people owe them a debt that could never be fully repaid.

There’s not going to be a trial; the assassins went down fighting, and all intelligence points to a rogue group that has evaporated after the botched attempt on their lives. Still, there are extra guards onboard the ship with them, posted outside their stateroom doors.

Anna doesn’t see much of them, only catches glimpses when food is brought by. She eats for Kristoff’s sake more than her own; he won’t touch his own supper until he’s watched her force down a few mouthfuls.

They don’t speak much; apologies lay heavy on her tongue like burning coals, stifling any other conversation that would normally flow with such ease between them. Kristoff doesn’t ask for them, doesn’t give any indication at all that he even expects them, only keeps looking at her with those sad, dark eyes, catching her hand and holding it tightly.

“I love you,” she tells him again, the only words she can manage to get out.

For once, he doesn’t say he loves her too. Instead he squeezes her hand a little tighter and says, “You’re scaring me, baby.”

 _I know,_ she wants to tell him, _I know and I’m sorry for that too, and I’m scared, and I’m not leaving again, but if you want to now--_

“I love you,” she whispers again, and he sighs and closes his eyes.

* * *

**  
  
**

The bandages came off today.

She didn’t even have to tell Gerda she’d make her own bed the next morning, their own secret code, normally delivered with a wink and answered with a fond sigh and shake of the head. But today, the older woman took one look at the expression on the queen’s face and said softly, “I’ll not send anybody up til the afternoon, Anna.”

She wishes she was still just Anna to everybody. Then she wouldn’t be in a bed that still felt too big in a room that felt too stuffy on a night that felt like it would never end.

And Kristoff wouldn’t have a fucking hole in his side.

 _Not a hole anymore_ , she reminds herself dully, _not like it was a month ago when the assassin’s knife was torn free, spilling spurts of crimson all down the vest she’d had made for him to match her new blue dress._

After, when Mattias had draped a blanket over her shoulders and pulled her close to try and stop the shaking, she’d asked through chattering teeth, “Why didn’t it turn purple? It’s blue and red, so why didn’t it turn purple? That’s how it works, doesn’t it?”

“Your majesty,” he’d said softly, “I think you need to lie down,” and when she’d refused he’d slipped her a powder that kept her from doing anything else for the next day.

But it’s not a hole anymore; it’s a puckered red scar, one she can feel through the thin fabric of his nightshirt. She tries to focus on something, anything else; brushes her nose against the warm expanse of his back, presses a kiss to the knob of his spine, slips a hand under the shirt to press against the warmth of his stomach as it rises and falls with each sleep-slow breath.

He’s alive, but now it’s in spite of something, and the thought of that is going to haunt her for many more nights to come.

* * *

She’s been waiting for this a long time. She closes her eyes now, lets it wash over her and soak her to the bone.

“Jesus, Anna,” he says, frustrated. “I just-- I can’t do this anymore. It’s killing me.”

There it is; the dismissal she deserves. She rises so quickly her head spins, and before he can say another word the door is closed behind her. 

She’ll see to it that he’s taken care of, of course, for the rest of his life, though God knows he’s never needed her and all this finery, not when he’s known how to survive on the side of the mountain since he was a child. But she’ll do it, all the same, love him in a way that doesn’t hurt him, as long as he’ll let her. 

The ring, though; that’s the one selfishness he’ll have to allow her. She’ll pay him for it, if he wants, but she can’t stand even the thought of looking down and seeing her left hand bare once more. She’ll not take it off, not for herself or anyone else; she’ll have to talk to her sister, or to Kai and Gerda if she’s no help, find out if there’s some distant cousin who can inherit, because--

She cries out in surprise when a heavy hand settles on her shoulder. “Sorry,” Kristoff says hastily, though he doesn’t let go; instead he leans more heavily on her, taking a moment to catch his breath as his other hand clutches at his side.

“You’re-- you’re not supposed to be overexerting yourself,” she says frantically, turning and setting her hands on his ribs to help him stay upright. 

“And you’re not supposed to leave,” he replies, so seriously she flinches and looks away. “Anna, you promised.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry I broke it, I--”

“No,” he says fiercely, resting his forehead against hers. “I heard you. You said if I woke up you wouldn’t leave again.”

Something in the ruin of her heart stirs at the thought that somehow even unconscious he knew her, heard her calling for him, came back for her-- but the warmth is fleeting, snuffed out by the hurt in his eyes. She shakes her head frantically. “I-- I know-- but it’s better this way, I’m glad you see it now, I--”

“What are you talking about? I don’t want you to go.”

“You said you can’t do it anymore,” she whimpers. “And I-- you’re right, you can’t. I can’t ask you to. This is all my fault, Kris, I’m so sorry.”

He pulls her closer to his chest, resting his cheek on the top of her head as his hand runs soothingly up and down her spine. “It’s not, baby, none of it is.”

“If you-- if you never met me, then you’d still be safe. You’d be with the trolls and Sven and you’d be--”

“I’d be alone, even with them. I don’t want-- I can’t go back to that. I don’t want to.”

“You could have died,” she chokes out, her hands fisting in the front of his shirt. “And it would have been my fault, and I-- I--” She gulps for air, squeezes her eyes shut; she can’t stand to see the tenderness in his expression, not right now. “When they-- when you...I’ve never been more scared, Kris, not of anything. Not ever.”

His hand stills on her back. “But you…”

“I’d-- I’d take freezing to death, and Hans and all his bullshit, and the rock giants and all of it, I’d do it all over again if that would undo this. I can’t imagine anything worse than losing you.”

“Oh,” he manages to say. “Oh, Anna…”

“I love you,” she whispers. “More than anything. You have to believe me.”

He kisses her forehead again, each of her cheeks, even the tip of her nose, and waits until she finally looks at him before speaking again. “I do,” he says softly. “I do.”

They stand there for a while longer, until his breathing is steady once more and the last of the tears on her cheeks dry. She nuzzles her cheek against his chest, letting the warmth of him sink into her. “I’m sorry, Kristoff,” she says for what feels like the millionth time; some days it feels like failure is all she has to offer him, and still he stays.

“Don’t be,” he murmurs. “I know how it feels to be afraid like that.”

And he does; she knows that, knows he tosses and turns at night and calls her name until she’s able to rouse him, knows how his heart pounds under the press of her hand for a while afterward. 

She lets her fingers drift down to his side, to settle lightly over the scar she thinks she can feel even through the layers of his nightshirt and robe. He lowers his own hand to press over hers, large enough to cover it entirely.

“It’s alright, Anna,” he reassures her. “I’m here.”

And so he is, and that’s all that matters, really, in the end.

  
  



End file.
